PART 3: THE FIRST MEETING

1: The way She is with people

In the mornings, Marceline was never truly awake. She always drifted lackadaisically from bed to shower to clothes to school. But today was different; today was her first day in the home of her new foster parent. And it was strangely different for her. But it was also strangely familiar.

Mr. Petrikov explained that he had to leave early, and that she'd be on her own in the mornings until summer started. What to do when she got to school-what time she should leave by, etc.- was all explained in a hurried jumble of words by Mr. Petrikov before he left that morning.

Marceline did everything lethargically. She was like a snail crawling up a wall to get to its destination. She slowly got dressed into an outfit of all black, slowly got some cereal into a bowl, and slowly put her hair back into a ponytail. She didn't even speed up when she noticed she was running a little late. She simply walked outside of the cold, dark, bland house.

When the even colder air of October hit her like a bus, however, she found herself wide awake. She shot back into the house and ran up the stairs, taking two at a time in her mad dash to her room. She grabbed her jacket, a red and white varsity jacket (which may or may not belong to a friend of hers from back in Rhode Island) and began her walk to school, ice and leaves crunching under her.

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The school was, as Mr. Petrikov described it, 'full of nostalgic charm'. Which meant it looked like it hadn't been renovated since 1989. The walls were that drab, dull, white cinder block that is so familiar to students. Marcy noticed a slight, brown hue to them. The large rock out front of the highschool was unpainted, save for the name “Blake Lerman High”. It must have been new.

The outside of the school made it look needlessly complex. Hallways that jutted out everywhere, with room numbers that made no sense. The school's rooms were separated by departments, but with so many classes, some departments had two hallways, and some only had half a hallway. Three theaters and two main offices didn't help much either. It was a nightmare to figure out.

Marceline found herself in the main office, while everyone else was out in the commons area of the school. She was expecting someone to give her a dirty look, but no one seemed to notice her. That was fine. She was never one to willingly 'blend in', but why try to stand out if you have no clue how? She was next in line.

The secretary was a mean looking woman, probably older than the town. She looked like she'd been handing out student information since the bronze age, and her outfit didn't help Marceline with her politeness. The secretary wore a leopard print pantsuit (which, admittedly, looked like pajamas) and a pair of little glasses, chained to her neck by a small golden thread. She looked up slowly.

“Name?”

“Marceline Abedeer. 12th Grade.” She shuffled, uncomfortable, pulling on her satchel's strap. The secretary in front of her just looked plain evil.

“New arrival?” The woman asked, shakily going through paper after paper.

“Huh? Oh, yeah” replied Marcy, scratching her head, “Mr. Petrikov's ward.”

“He's talked about you.” Said the secretary, with what could barely be called a smile. It was about as real as pulling a rabbit out of a hat, and it most likely served the same function.

“Oh? I mean, I guess it can be exciting.” She took her schedule and looked down it.

BLOCK 1              MUS. APP.                    GRUBER, 1123

BLOCK 2              LIT 12: WOR               O'MALLY, 1908

BLOCK 3              CHEM 1                       PETRIKOV, 1313

BLOCK 4              N/A                              --------

She looked at the schedule funny. “Uhhh, miss, shouldn't I have 4 classes?”

The secretary shook her head. “You're not registered for one. Your credits are in order. Talk to your guidance counselor.”

Marceline was about to argue, but then the bell rang.

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Five minutes left in the commons, and Marceline was standing there, adjacent to everyone. Not having really talked to anyone. And although she got some looks, or some smiles, none of the groups were of her interest. Everyone was talking about everyone else, which was not something that she could do. It could be described as a fish out of water, but it was more like a french speaker being stuck in Switzerland. She understood what was being said, but didn't want to take much part in it.

Until Marceline felt something strike her in the back.

Marcy's gut instinct was to turn around and beat the shit out of whoever threw something at her. But after realising she'd not been hit by something but someone, She simply got off the floor and dusted herself off. “Woah, dude, watch it...”

Marceline looked down and saw what….who….had hit her. Another girl. It was most likely an accident, seeing as Marceline hadn't talked to anyone, let alone made enemies. The girl looked disheveled. Her hair tied back, wearing a baggy pink sweater and a long, purple pair of sweatpants that stopped just at the ankle. How she wasn't freezing, Marcy didn't care to find out. She grabbed her small bookbag off the floor as she got up. “Apologies.” She said, before scurrying off.

Marceline had never seen such quick movement before. But there was still a good amount of time before anyone had to be anywhere...Marceline, against her better judgement, pretended not to notice the girl's schedule.

Suddenly, Marceline's shoulder was tapped. When she turned around, her eyes met the eyes of a boy in blue; a long blue coat and dark blue skinny jeans adorned his legs. He had long, bright blonde hair, that he wore down. “Hey,” He said, not asking for a name. “Don't worry about that girl, alright? That's Bonnie. She's just a bit stressed this time of year. SATs and all that.”

Marcy looked at this boy, her arms crossed. “Who might you be to judge, huh?”

The boy, not detecting the scorn in Marcy's poison-laced words, smiled. “I'm Finn! Her only friend.” He held out a hand, a stupid grin washing over his face. “You seem new here! Mind if I look at your schedule? Might be able to show you around.”

At this point, Marceline's judgment was telling her to kick this guy in the balls and run. But for the second time today, she told her judgment to shut up. “Yeah, sure.' She handed the green slip to the boy and looked behind her. The girl was still gone. It was so strange…

“Finn, who did you say that girl was agai-”

Before she could finish, Finn looked up, beaming. “This is crazy! We have the same schedules! Well, I gotta deal with Mrs. Rainy in 4th block. Lucky you, getting to leave early.”

“Heh, yeah….” She looked back to him. “Finn. What was that girl's name?”

Just before the bell rang, he looked up. “Bonnie Russel. 12th grade.” He was mimicking the secretary, which made Marcy giggle. “But hey, don't worry about her, okay? She may seem a bit stand-offish, but that's...” Finn paused, scratching his head. “What?” Asked Marcy, crossing her arms.

“It's just….” He looked down, then looked back up. His smile had saddened. “The way she is with people. Now,” He said, cracking his knuckles, “Lemme show you to 1123.”

2: Jet black hair

Shit. Shit shit shit shit. A new student, a TOTALLY new student, and Bonnie, in her infinite wisdom, doesn't even nod at her. Just decides to run full force into her back. Of course. And in front of Finn, too. She's never hear the end of it from that guy.

She, of course, wasn't a social person. Her preference was a very small group of friends: Finn, Mrs. Rainy (an engineering teacher, who was more like a mother to Bonnie) and no one else. She was content to study, get into a god college, and get the fuck out of there. She hated this place now. All it carried were memories of guilt and mistreatment.

'It'll be the one time we run into each other all day, Bonnie,' she thought to herself, 'Just let it go. No one's gonna die.'

She reached into her bag to get a pencil, and found her month old schedule was missing. Not like she hadn't gotten it down by now, and she wasn't afraid of it being seen by anyone. She heard the bell ring and walked into her class. 1123, music appreciation with Mr. Grueber.

Mr. Grueber's class was not one of merriment. He was a legitimately paranoid man, and just the slightest infraction of the rules might set him off. Sometimes, his outbursts were funny (especially the ones that related to the topic he was teaching), but often times they were either seen as annoying or terrifying. There was no middle ground with him; He was either making people laugh, groan, or cry. No one was sure why he did that.

One of his strangest rules was that there were ABSOLUTELY NO LEMONS in his classroom. Mr. Grueber was a tall, lanky figure, who's bright blond hair made him look like a bit like a lemon. He had supposedly been teased a lot for this. So, if you were spotted with a lemon, lemonade, or anything lemon flavored, he would send you out of the room ASAP.

There was a test that day, so when he stepped in, he slammed a large pile of papers onto his desk. “Does ANYONE know if the bell has rung yet?”

Bonnie sat at the back, as usual. She'd been spotted talking to Finn too much, so she'd been moved there. Bonnie was, of course, relieved to see Finn made it to class on time….not so much to see the girl with jet black hair trailing behind him. She seemed confused. Mr. Grueber pointed to the seat next to Bonnie. “New student,” He said in his shrill voice, “sit over there. After the test bonnie can catch you up.”

Bonnie rose. “S-sir, s-shouldn't Finn do it? He's better at this.” Her voice came out soft and light, barely audible. But the ears of Grueber heard all.

“FINE. You BOTH will help her AFTER the test. Speaking of which,” He said, running his fingers through the test booklets. “I hope no one here is deciding to CHEAT on this exam. Let us not forget what happened to Archibald...”

Archibald was a fictitious doctor that Grueber had made up. He was an example of how a bad student can get a good job, fail miserably, and be shamed for it for the rest of their life. He passed out the tests, not giving one to Marcy. The booklets were thick, and packed with all kinds of musical technicalities: arpeggios, a-tonal structures, 'lower-case-music sheets'…

Marceline knew a lot about music. It was her passion. But a lot of the stuff she was looking at made absolutely no sense to her. She'd get it after a few tries...she thought. The room was fully silent for 30 minutes. Not even the pledge was spoken. There were no speakers visible in the room.

Bonnie raised her hand. “I'm done,” she whispered.

Mr. Grueber shushed her sharply, then quickly walked over to her. He took the test, then turned her chair to face Marceline. “quietly run her through everything we've learned.”

Bonnie had just been thrust into a social situation with a girl whom she had just practically assaulted that morning. She was already anti-social enough, it didn't help that she was unable to really be social anyhow.

Silence between the two figures stretched out. Longer, longer, longer still. Until Marceline finally said something.

“Y'know, the way you hit from behind? You should be a football player. You'd tear one of those kids up,” she whispered, leaning forward in her chair, “Or maybe be a marine.”

She was silent. She looked down at her paper, her arms crossed. It was to hide her flustered face, red as a lobster. She was very, very, very embarrassed. She looked up, slowly, as her blush faded.

“Let's focus on the material.”

“Finn,” said Mr. Grueber, in a shrill voice, “go help Bonnie talk.”

“Okay, Mr. G!” He said, jauntily striding over to a table (and yet somehow keeping his feet completely silent).

“What's up?” He said, in a hushed tone, “I'm super good at this stuff. You have any experience with it,mmmm…..uhh….Mickey?” He asked, only having overheard her name earlier. He had this odd air about him. He just...shone, like a beacon. Like a light in a storm. As if he was the brightest thing in the room, no matter where he went. Always resolute, always looking at the bright side.

Marcy scratched her head, nodding softly. “Close,” she turned to him and stretched, taking off her jacket and putting it on the table, “Marceline. You can call me Marcy.” She grabbed a small binder out of her satchel, opening it. “Fill me in, I guess?”

The two others pulled out their notes. Bonnie pulled her notes out. They were more organized than the library of congress. Seriously, it was so precise, did she draw those lines with a ruler? She had the handwriting of a printer, it seriously just LOOKED like Times New Roman. Her handwriting was absolutely beautiful, and Marceline found it incredibly hard to believe. It was like Bonnie had just...willed it onto the paper.

But it was clear she didn't exactly understand it all. She 'understood' it, but she wasn't really putting things together. This became apparent in her book work. She wasn't very good at putting everything from her notes into putting it together.

Finn pulled out his notes. He had four words. Written down.

“buy milk. Wait wait”

What he had written was sloppily done. His staffs and bars were unorganized and just generally bad. He looked like he just scribbled what was going on in his head half of the time.

But his work was AMAZING. He was a genius, every sheet had a solid 100 and every thing he wrote was impressive...what she could read. His notes looked like he was at least two units ahead.

Bonnie spoke, softly, “let me know if you need any help reading any of my notes. I know it can be a bit much.” She slowly passed hers over, then retracted her hand.

Finn, on the other hand, just handed her his folder. “It's in there somewhere.”